Option A
by PyroYoshi
Summary: When he finds out what really happened at North Yankton, Trevor falls into depression. Wade comforts him in the only way he knows how, and it turns into something a bit more. Contains light slash, but nothing graphic. Rated M mainly for language.
1. Chapter 1

Liar, traitor, snake, douchebag and asshole were all words Trevor would use to describe Michael. 'Back stabbing son of a bitch' also worked quite nicely.

He hated himself for not seeing through it right away. Maybe he had, but he didn't want to accept it. For nearly twenty years, he had been under the impression that Michael was his best friend, but after being betrayed a second time, it finally sunk in that it wasn't true.

It was only a few hours ago that he had returned from North Yankton, betrayal capitol of the world, where he had learned the truth about what really happened that night. Even thinking of the town's name threatened to send him into a rage, as it brought back all the negative memories associated with it.

Something about the North Yankton heist had seemed off anyhow. The fact that there hadn't been a helicopter there to pick them up was weird enough, but when Michael didn't bleed out after getting shot, it only roused further suspicion that it had been a set up. Trevor hadn't thought about that last part before, but now it all made sense.

It was supposed to be him that got pumped full of lead and put six feet under, not Brad.

That wasn't even the worst part. No, the most unbelievably poisonous thing was that Michael's lies never stopped, not even when Trevor was standing in the grave, ready to pop open the coffin.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't glad his former best friend was currently being held captive by those Chinese assholes. They'd probably keep him alive, in an attempt to lure him into their trap.

Little did they know that plan would fail miserably. There was no way Trevor was coming for Michael, not after all the stunts he pulled. Instead, he'd tell Franklin to rescue him, but to take his sweet time doing it, as it would most likely only be a short while before that slippery snake betrayed him too.

If Franklin failed at this task or just flat out didn't want to do it, then Michael would die at the hands of the Triads, and Trevor would be totally okay with it.

That's what he tried to force himself to believe, but he wasn't doing a very good job.

Even after all the lies, betrayals, drama and tension between them during the course of the past few weeks, there was a small part of him that wanted to drive down to Los Santos, massacre a bunch of Asian gangsters, and rescue his ex friend. For whatever reason, he was convinced that maybe, just maybe, Michael would realize how much he meant to him. After all, they had history. Those ten years of being partners in crime and wrecking havoc across the land had brought them close. Not only that, but Michael had been one of the only people he could truly look in the eye and call a friend. Sure, he had Ron and Wade, but he hadn't known either of them anywhere near as long.

Plus, he needed Michael alive if he wanted to do the Union Depository score. He knew for a fact that he wasn't savvy enough to do it by himself.

Two full hours later, Trevor still hadn't made up his mind. Option A was go rescue Michael himself and possibly face the ultimate rejection, the thanks for saving me but you're apeshit crazy so please get out of my life variety. Option B was to send Franklin in to get him so he could stay in his trailer and drink himself to death while wallowing in depression and self pity.

Both had their pros and cons, but option B was winning by a slight margin.

Trevor pulled out his phone, preparing to dial Franklin's number. Right as his finger hovered over the contacts button, his phone vibrated, signifying that he had a text message.

It turned out to be a text message from Wade, asking if he wanted to go see a movie.

It made Trevor pause and think. Besides Franklin and Ron, Wade was the only other person he could currently trust and count on. The kid was loyal in addition to being sweet and friendly, as he'd probably still remain by Trevor's side no matter what happened.

Deciding to temporarily put the Triad issue on hold, Trevor dialed Wade's number and surprised himself in how much he was hoping he'd get an answer. It rang over and over for nearly a minute, and his heart sank a little. On the last ring, he finally got an answer.

"Oh hey Trevor. Sorry I couldn't get to the phone faster, I fell down the stairs while trying to get to it, and now my ass hurts."

"Wade, my simple minded friend. How about we skip the movie and you come over and talk to me. To say that I'm lonely right now would be an understatement."

"Okay, I'm nearby. I got bored of the strip club so I came back to Sandy Shores."

"Good. You have half an hour to run over here or I'll disembowel both Violent J and Shaggy 2 Dope right in front of you."

With that, Trevor hung up and tossed his phone across the room. Anyone else who tried to contact him wouldn't be getting an answer.

He manically paced back and forth for what seemed like an eternity, but when he glanced at the clock, he realized that only five minutes had passed. He needed some alcohol to calm himself, so he opened the fridge, popped the cap of a bottle of ice cold Pisswasser, and downed it in about eight seconds. Just as he was about to chug a second, his front door swung open and Wade stumbled into his living room.

He was panting heavily, having clearly exhausted himself. "I...I ran all the way over here, just like you said."

"You actually ran all the way over here? You do realize I was just fucking with you right?" Trevor asked.

Wade looked confused. "But you said run over here, so I did."

"Never mind, sometimes I don't know why I even bother." Trevor said and dropped down onto the sofa. "Come sit by me."

Wade obeyed, sitting beside him. "What's the matter?"

Trevor waited a moment before spilling. "You know when I had you track down Michael De Santa a few weeks ago? You met him briefly during the Merryweather heist. My ex best friend. Remember Him?"

"Yeah. Did he die or something?"

"No, it's worse than that. It turns out that whole North Yankton job from nine years ago was a set up, Brad has been dead this whole time, and in a cruel twist of irony, I was actually writing letters to the same motherfucker who was going to take me out! To top it all off, Michael had the fucking nerve to lie about it again and again, even as I was standing in the casket that was supposed to contain MY rotting corpse!" Trevor fumed, practically shouting the last couple of words. He took a large swig of his beer before continuing his tirade.

"See, this is why you can't trust anyone except me. The world is a terrible place, brimming with people who just want to use you, then take you down when you least expect it! I know I'm not exactly a nice person. In fact, I'm a fucking asshole! But I'd never betray others in the way that he does and continues to do. He says what he did was for his family, but I see right through the bullshit! He wanted all that money for himself, and probably never gave even half a shit about me in the first place!"

Trevor viciously smashed the beer bottle over the nearby coffee table, obliterating the bottom half and sending the liquid splashing all over the place. The intact top half was left with a sharp, jagged edge perfect for shanking someone, an action that he felt incredibly tempted to do. Though unlike all the previous times, this time he was seriously considering plunging it into his own neck instead of someone else's.

Wade stared at him blankly, not sure what to say or do. He wasn't afraid, yet he knew that getting up and walking away without saying anything could end in disaster.

Silence fell between them as Trevor wordlessly turned the glass shank over in his hands, contemplating his actions.

"Nah, I can't kill myself. I have a business to run." he tossed it against the wall, shattering it. "For now, anyway. There's only one small problem, nobody wants to do business with me. Do you know why that is, Wade? I'll tell you why. It's because no one cares about me."

"That's not true. I care about you, and so does Ron. He's terrified of you though, you should be a little nicer to him." Wade said.

"I know...I don't really mean the things I say, and I wouldn't have actually killed the members of your favorite band if you decided you didn't want to come over. The thing is, I'm just not very good at expression positive emotions. If I want to say, 'I trust you to do your job', it always comes out as, 'if you screw up, I'll burn your house down and make you watch.' I guess I just...fuck it, I don't even know."

Trevor slumped over, suddenly feeling incredibly guilty. Wade was right, he should be a little nicer to his associates. No, scratch that, he should be a lot nicer to them. Threatening to rip someone's head off and shove a turd down the hole wasn't exactly the type of commentary that builds trust between two people. Truthfully, he was kind of surprised that Ron had never tried to shoot him, especially seeing as how paranoid he could be. That alone indicated some level of trust.  
Upon first moving to Sandy Shores, he had practically forced Ron to be his friend weather he liked it or not, but over time it had turned into a friendship- the rather dysfunctional master and slave type, but it was still a friendship. Besides, it wasn't as if either one of them had many other friends.

So what had possessed Wade to stick with him for an entire year? He hadn't exactly threatened the younger man with death if he left and went back home, so he must have some good qualities that made him worth being around.

Trevor pondered this in addition to everything else that was currently plaguing his mind, until he was lost deep in thought. He payed no attention to the movement on his left, and mulled over everything that had transpired within the last few weeks.

His eyes shot wide open as hands slunk around him and drew him into a close embrace. He realized with shock that the unthinkable was happening: he was receiving a hug. A real, genuine hug from a friend, not a phony paid one from a prostitute. He had lost count of the number of times he had hired a prostitute just to hug him and make him feel wanted.  
When was the last time he received a hug from someone other than a hooker? He couldn't remember. The paid hugs from prostitutes always did more damage than good, leaving him feeling even more worthless and empty. This was different, it was real affection, not the faked kind.

"If I didn't want to be your friend, I would have just left. I'm glad you're my friend, because I know you care about me, even though you refuse to admit it." Wade said and gripped him tighter.

He barely had time to finish speaking before Trevor broke the hug, gently but firmly pushed him down onto his back, pinned him down and passionately kissed him on the mouth.

At first Wade wasn't sure how to react to the situation, but as he felt one hand grip his dreads and the other wander dangerously close to his crotch, he gave in, shut his eyes and returned the kiss.

Trevor was a good kisser, no doubts about it. He wasn't too rough or sloppy, but not too delicate either. After a couple seconds, Wade not only found himself deeply enjoying the sensation of his mouth being invaded, he also loved having another person so close. It had been far too long since anyone had shown any type of interest in him, as people usually dismissed him as mentally retarded upon hearing him speak. All he wanted was for someone to love him, and if that person was going to be his unhinged friend and boss, so be it.  
He reached up to try and bring Trevor closer, only for access to be denied.

Trevor abruptly stood up and snapped his fingers. "Yes! Yes, that's just what I needed. Your effort was deeply appreciated, you've effectively showed me that at least one person on this god forsaken planet still cares about me. I've decided that I'm going to save Michael's fat ass from the Triads."

He worked over a plan in his head, hastily darting back and forth as he did so.

"Michael is still a prick, but damnit, he's my prick! A prick that gets things done when paired with a jerk like me! Oh yes, we make a great team, no one can deny it. If I want to save him, I'll need weapons! Powerful ones! Wade, if you'll excuse me, I have some heavy artillery to acquire!" With that statement, Trevor was out the door, dead set on going psychopathic on the Triads.

Wade remained on the couch, feeling both cheated and confused. He felt cheated because that moment between them had ended way too soon, and he felt confused because overall, he preferred girls. At least he thought he did, after a make out session like that he wasn't so sure anymore.

Those two girls at the Vanilla Unicorn who had been ordered to give him an endless lap dance, while slightly more attractive than a lot of the local women of Sandy Shores, hadn't been anything special. In fact, he had gotten bored of them after about five minutes, and while their touch was flirtatious at first, it felt cold, robotic and repetitive after a while. They were strippers, all the touching and flirting they did was as fake as their spray tans.

On the other hand, he had a feeling that if the sudden make out session between himself and Trevor had gone on any longer, it would have progressed into something more intimate. The longer he thought about it, the more appealing it seemed. As long as his partner loved him, he wasn't too picky about gender or appearance.

It only took him a few seconds to decide that if Trevor ever wanted to make out with him again, he officially wouldn't mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: This chapter takes place several weeks after the Union Depository heist, hence why Trevor is sort of friends with Michael again.

After a solid minute of debating with himself, Wade finally decided to go inside. It was one in the morning and he was standing outside the door to Trevor's trailer, not sure if going inside was the best idea.

The reason he came over was simple enough: he felt like absolute shit. In addition to being really dizzy, he felt incredibly nauseous, almost like he had swallowed a bowling ball filled with molten lead, and figured the culprit was the food from Cluckin' Bell he had earlier. There were some very unsavory people working there, as well as some complete twats who thought it was funny to tamper with people's food.

He hated being alone when he was sick, and even though Trevor wasn't exactly the most sympathetic person, he was better than nobody. Judging by the way he felt, he figured he was probably going to puke fairly soon, and didn't want to be alone when it happened. The last time he had been sick was on his way to a concert, and his 'friends' had just dumped him into a gas station bathroom and left him there.

Wade nudged the door open and peeked inside. "Trevor? You here?" he called. He didn't get a response, but the sight that awaited him told him everything he needed to know.

Trevor was lounging in the kitchen area watching Adult Swim while clad in a green floral print dress that was a little too short. Since he was so engrossed in the cartoon he was watching, it took him several seconds to notice his friend's presence, and several more before speaking.

"Before you ask, I don't have any drugs. I did the last of them an hour ago. I can go get more if that's what you want."

Wade shook his head and collapsed onto the sofa, feeling way too unstable to even stand up any longer.

"I don't feel good." he whined, hoping to at least get some sympathy.

Trevor shrugged. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Can I stay here for a while? I just don't want to be alone right now."

"I don't see the harm in that. I could use some company anyway. I tried to get Michael to come over, but noooooooo, he wants to spend time with Amanda, even though she's cheated on him a million fucking times!" Trevor ranted to himself in a mocking tone.

Truthfully, it was a bit of a biased thing to say. He was always accusing Michael of refusing to end his relationship with Amanda, yet he refused to give up on his friendship with Michael, no matter how toxic it got.

Several minutes later, a commercial break came on, so he used the opportunity to get himself something to eat. Eventually he settled on some left over pizza.

"Want a slice?" he asked, shoving a cold yet incredibly greasy slice of pepperoni pizza in Wade's direction.

"No." Wade had a hard time saying a single word. His stomach lurched and while he knew he needed to haul ass to the bathroom or run back outside, he felt too sick and dizzy to move.

"Your loss, this is good stuff." Trevor demolished the slice in about two bites, then knelt down in front of his friend and gave him a questioning glance. "Now are you going to tell me what's ailing you, or am I going to have to guess?"

Wade tried to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he retched and threw up directly into Trevor's lap.

"What the fuck?!" Trevor yelped in surprise and jumped back, but not before he felt another wave splash onto his left foot.

Wade ignored him and put his head between his knees. There was no way he'd be able to stop heaving at this point, so he didn't even try. Thus, he remained hunched over and continued to copiously puke all over the floor for another minute or so, making a tremendous mess in the process.

When he was finally done, he wiped the excess drops off his lip ring and gave himself a few seconds to regain his composure before the realization of what just happened hit him. He felt far too humiliated to look Trevor in the eye and tried to sink further into the sofa, fully expecting to get berated, shouted at, or even hit for failing to control himself.

Trevor raised a brow in a rather bemused fashion, quickly glancing from Wade to the pool to himself and back again. He wasn't exactly fond of getting puked on, but found it impossible to get mad over in this particular situation.

"Take it easy, I'm not going punch you or shove your face in it, so quit worrying." he reassured.

"You're not mad?" Wade asked hopefully.

"No. I get mad when people deliberately do things that aggravate me, like refusing to enter a business deal with me, pretending to be dead, or mocking my accent. But you clearly didn't choose to be sick, it's just the kind of annoying shit that happens once in a while. Just like crapping your pants, it happens to the best of us." Trevor replied.

Not willing to let the dress go or even take it off, he wiped off as much of the barf as he could with a fistful of paper towels, then casually discarded them on the floor. He then dropped a stack of old porn magazines into the pool on the floor and returned to watching tv as if nothing had happened.

Wade sighed and moved to the other end of the sofa to watch whatever Trevor was watching.

It turned out to be a new episode of Metalocalypse.

On any other night, Wade would have been glued to the tv, as Metalocalypse was his favorite show, but due to his persistent nausea he couldn't focus on it. Before too long, that damn pukey feeling crept over him again.

Even though he didn't want to, he got up and slunk into the bathroom to wait. The waiting was always the worst part.

Thankfully it didn't take long, within a few seconds he was down on his knees in front of the toilet, violently throwing up into it.

He didn't feel any better when he was done, as he still felt sick and his stomach was really starting to hurt. That, and the fact that Trevor wasn't even bothering to check up on him made him feel worse. Not that he had expected him to, but it would have been a nice thing to do.

He was far from bright, but he hadn't forgotten the make out incident between them from several weeks ago. Trevor had been at his lowest point over the whole getting betrayed by Michael a second time thing, and Wade had been there to help yank him out of it, just by doing something as simple as giving him a hug to show that at least one person still cared about him. So he figured the least Trevor could do for him right now was get him a glass of water or hold his hair back.

It didn't seem like either of those things would be occurring, so he was very surprised to see Trevor standing outside the bathroom door when he came out.

"What were you doing? Were you watching me through the keyhole?" Wade asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

Trevor took mock offense. "What? Come on Wade, if I was going to wank to you puking up every last thing you've eaten in the past two weeks, I'd have the decency to inform you first."

"So...you were going to watch me?"

"No, I wasn't watching, I swear. I was just waiting for you. Jeez, you're starting to sound like Ron, being all paranoid about things. Speaking of which, we're going to go harass him to see if he has any Pepto Bismol or some similar shit."

Trevor didn't wait for Wade to respond before grabbing him by the hand and tugging him out the door and onto the neighboring property.

"Ron! Open up!" he pounded on the door repeatedly. "I know you're awake!"

When he didn't get an answer, Trevor let himself in and glanced around.

The bedroom door was shut, and a crash followed by frantic scurrying emanated from behind it, piquing his curiosity. He decided the best course of action was to fling the door open without knocking, which revealed Ron in a very awkward position. He was crouched in the corner of the room with a leather belt looped around his neck and with his pants around his ankles, which could only mean one thing.

"Trevor?! What's wrong with you?" he said as he desperately tried to yank his pants back up.

"Engaging in some good old fashioned auto erotic asphyxiation, were you?" Trevor taunted.

"I, uh...yes. You caught me, I can't really deny it, can I?"

"Don't be so bashful, Ron. Choking yourself while masterbating is one of the finer things in life. I do it quite frequently myself."

"It is pretty great."

"It sure is. In fact, I propose you and I engage in a mutual jerking it while strangling ourselves session."

Ron officially didn't know how to respond to that invitation. "...Really, boss? I mean...I don't swing that way..."

"Well I swing that way! I swing every way! It's happening!" Trevor snarled at him. "Besides, how can you know you won't like it if you won't try it?"

Looking defeated, Ron backed down. The last thing he wanted was to flip Trevor's rage switch, so he changed the subject.

"Alright, boss. It sounds fun. Now, please don't tell me that's the only reason you came over here."

"No, I'm not that selfish. Unlike SOMEONE I know. Someone named Michael! Anyway, I came over to ask if you have any Pepto Bismol or something, as Wade here isn't feeling too good. He puked right on my junk and all over my trailer about 20 minutes ago." Trevor informed and motioned to Wade, who was sitting at the kitchen counter with his head down.

"I'm not even going to ask about the first part of that last sentence, but I might have something." Ron said.

He aimlessly searched the cabinets for several minutes until he found some generic store brand version of Pepto Bismol, then poured some in a glass and set it on the counter.

Wade stared at it in disgust, as he had no idea how drinking that nasty pink crap was supposed to make him feel better. The mere thought of drinking it made him retch, but he hastily downed it anyway. Unsurprisingly, it tasted quite foul.

It didn't even get all the way down his throat before he felt everything else coming back up and gagged.

"Oh shit! Go outside!" Ron, who apparently didn't cope well with sick people, went wide eyed and instinctively backed away from him.

Wade clamped his hand over his mouth and bolted outside, just barely making it out the door before exploding. Brown liquid flowed from his mouth as he lost it for the third and hopefully the final time. Vertigo washed over him, so he gripped the top of the nearby chain link fence to prevent himself from falling over as the heaving continued.

He detected movement behind him, and almost jumped in surprise when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and the hem of a certain floral print dress grazed against him. This reassured the shocking fact that it was Trevor, not Ron, who had come out to comfort him. Perhaps he did care after all.

"I feel like I'm dying," he moaned in between retches.

"You're not going to die, I promise." Trevor said in his best reassuring voice, a tone which was very rarely used.

Wade wasn't so sure. He had no idea where all the puke was coming from, and each retch was quite painful, leaving him feeling like he had been stabbed right in the gut. It was so painful in fact that a few tears seeped from his eyes at one point. He appreciated the back massage, but it didn't make the ordeal any less excruciating. After what seemed like an eternity, it finally stopped and he panted a few times, trying to catch his breath.

"See? I said you weren't going to die, and I'm never wrong. You're alright though, aren't you?" Trevor asked.

"I'm not sure." Wade replied, letting himself slump down the side of the fence. He felt a little better, but still bad overall, as everything hurt and he was left feeling like he had consumed sulfuric acid. He leaned back against the fence and shut his eyes, which helped slightly. After a few minutes he started to feel slightly better. The dizziness was beginning to fade, and he looked down at himself and realized that he had puke all over the bottoms of his pants.

Trevor looked him up and down as he cultivated a plan.

"Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to take care of you, then tomorrow afternoon I'm going to have a little chat with a certain employee at Cluckin' Bell to make sure he doesn't purposely fuck with anyone's food ever again. I'm not going to kill the guy, but I'll probably break one of his knees. As for you, I want you to go into my room and lay down for a while. That's an order, not a request." he explained.

"Will you tell me a story?" Wade asked.

"Yes, I'll tell you a story and give you a hug, as long as you promise not to throw up on me again." Trevor sighed and bent over to help him up. Despite his words, he gave Wade a comforting hug anyway, not caring if anyone saw him or not.

He paused and thought for a second. "One more thing."

"What's that?"

"Your pants...you're going to have to take them off."


	3. Chapter 3

Note: Unlike chapters 1 and 2, this one is very lighthearted and silly.

Florence Nightengale he was not, but Trevor had made a promise to take care of Wade, and he was going to do it. There wouldn't be any coddling, as that simply wasn't his style. Instead, he just got his friend a bucket, a glass of water and some more repugnant Pepto Bismol.

Wade didn't say much. He was laying on the bed, staring blankly at the wall.

"I think you're all set. If you need me, I'll be in the other room jerking off." Trevor prepared to leave, but Wade called out to him.

"Trevor?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you..." he paused momentarily before continuing, "Can you sleep with me tonight?"

"I'm not tired."

"Please?" he asked again, giving the puppy eyes look this time.

"Goddamnit Wade, why do you have to be so adorable? Stop looking at me like that! Alright, alright. Move over."

Trevor caved and stretched out on the bed, and Wade wasted no time in snuggling up close to him.

Most other people would have been pushed out of the bed for doing such a thing, but Wade wasn't most people. Trevor hadn't been sure about him upon first meeting him, but he had quickly proved to be a loyal friend and a good business partner.

In fact, he wouldn't mind if the two of them became more than friends, and he could actually see the possibility of it happening, so long as too much wasn't expected from him.

It took a long time, but he had finally accepted that he'd never get to be with Michael or Patricia, the only two people he had ever developed true romantic feelings for. Michael was as straight as could be, and Patricia was obviously never going to leave her jerk husband.

Trevor was far from being a drop dead gorgeous knockout, and since most people wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole, he had to take what he could get. He'd much rather have that person be Wade than one of the local bar skanks.

That's not to say that he wasn't attracted to Wade, because he had always found the kid significantly better looking than a lot of the Sandy Shores locals. Plus, he was sweet, friendly and easy to please, something which couldn't be said for most of the residents of Sandy Shores and Los Santos. All those facial piercings didn't hurt either, as he had no shame in his fetish for piercings.

Then again, he had no shame in anything.

When Wade woke up the next afternoon, he realized there was no one beside him. He was a little disappointed, but then again he hadn't expected Trevor to stay with him the whole time. It would have been nice, but there were some things that just couldn't be expected from him.

His entire abdomen was sore from throwing up so much last night, but overall he felt much better, so he exited the bedroom to try and locate his friend.

The trailer was vacant, which indicated that Trevor was out somewhere, doing who knows what.

Deciding to check nearby locations first, Wade went outside. Trevor's truck was gone, which confirmed that fact that he was out doing business, causing mayhem, or perhaps the off chance that he was doing something as mundane as getting groceries.

He was about to call him when he noticed Ron stumbling around the yard, repeatedly bumping into things and muttering obscenities.

"What are you doing?" he inquired.

"Huh? Wade, is that you? Are you feeling better?" Ron asked, feeling along the fence in an attempt to locate the gate.

"Yeah, I feel a lot better now. Why are you walking so funny?"

"I lost my glasses. I could have sworn I left them on my coffee table, but they aren't there. I'm practically blind without them." It was no lie, as without his large black rimmed hipster glasses, all he could see was a bunch of blurry, nondescript shapes.

"Maybe Trevor knows where they are. You could ask him."

"He's down at the lab, I think." Ron tripped over his own ATV and bumped his head against one of the grips. "Son of a bitch. I really need to invest in some contacts."

The sound of a large vehicle approaching made them both perk up, only to be let down upon discovering that it was a white mini van, not a beat up red truck with a teddy bear tied to the front grill.

The van came to a stop across the street, and a cluster of people dressed up for church jumped out. A fat man in a cheap blue suit walked over to where Wade and Ron were.

"You two look lost, like you could use some guidance." he said.

"What makes you think that?" Ron asked from his position on the ground.

"I can tell just by looking at you. We cruise around the interstate, looking for lost souls like you. We're on our way to the Gathering, and you're welcome to join us." the fat guy explained.

"Did you just say the Gathering is in town? I LOVE going to the Gathering!" Wade clapped and jumped up and down excitedly.

"Excellent! Get in the van and we'll take you there." the fat man ordered.

Wade didn't need to be asked twice. He bounded into the van without a second thought, completely unaware of the group's ulterior motives. Once he took a seat, he heard the sound of Ron cursing to himself and getting in. After they were both situated, the driver started up the vehicle and they cruised down the highway.

The scenario did seem a bit strange to Wade. None of these people had their faces painted or looked like typical Juggalos in any way, but it didn't raise any red flags when it clearly should have.

Instead, he simply examined all of the van's pastel color clad, overly cheerful occupants.

"You guys don't look like the kind of people who like going to the Gathering." he commented.

"Oh, but we are! We never miss one!" exclaimed a brunette woman in an outdated yellow dress.

"Can I just stay in the van? I don't really like the kind of music they play at these places." Ron said.

"Aw, you don't want to be a party pooper, do you?" the fat guy questioned.

Ron sulked at his misfortune. Paranoia began to creep over him, as there was definitely a hint of malice about this. These people sounded far too civilized, upbeat and well mannered to be Juggalos. With the exception of Wade, all the Juggalos he had ever met had been mean spirited, wretched beings.

He felt uneasy, which wasn't helped by the fact that he couldn't clearly see any of these people, as all he saw was a bunch of pastel blobs. They seemed too perky and happy, to the point of being creepy.

After about fifteen minutes, the van pulled into the parking lot in front of a large, contemporary styled building and everybody clambered out.

"Yay! I can't wait for the Gathering to start!" Wade said and ran towards the building's entrance.

Despite feeling like he shouldn't, Ron grabbed his wrist and let the younger man guide him inside.

"I've got a bad feeling about this, Wade. I'm nervous." he admitted.

"Don't be. Nothing bad is going to happen." Wade reassured him.

The sound that met their ears less than a second later disregarded that statement as bullshit.

A loud, echoing voice rang out of the many PA systems scattered around the building's interior. "Welcome! Let's all praise our LAWD and savior, JEEEEESUS CHRIST!"

Wade and Ron both stopped dead in their tracks, at a complete loss for words.

This was not going to end well.

"I was robbing banks, blowing up rival meth labs and crossdressing before it was a trend." Trevor said cooly to himself.

He stared at his reflection, trying to decipher his feelings towards what he saw staring back at him.

He was wearing glasses. Specifically, he was wearing Ron's thick rimmed hipster glasses. Perhaps Michael had been right, maybe he was a hipster, at least in theory.

While he would rather die than be caught drinking a latte while wearing skinny jeans, parts of the hipster lifestyle did apply to him. He liked cheap beer, listened to obscure bands, and supported small businesses.

It couldn't be denied, he was part hipster. The fact made him scowl, and he ripped the glasses off his face. If they had belonged to anyone else, he would have smashed them into a thousand pieces, but since they belonged to one of his closest friends, he gently set them on the nearest table.

He felt his phone vibrate and saw that Ron was calling him. Speak of the Devil.

"Hello?"

"Boss, we've got a massive problem! Wade and I have been abducted by faith healers! They're doing it Mississippi style, boss! Mississippi style!" Ron had to shout to be heard over the preacher yelling in the background.

"What?! Those slimy motherfuckers think they can heal you? Who do they think they are?" Trevor snarled.

"I know, right? They won't let us leave, they've got me and Wade lined up on the stage behind a couple other people. I don't have my gun or my glasses, so I don't know what to do!"

"Fear not, my paranoid, neurotic buddy! I'm coming to get you! And by the way, you left your glasses here at the lab."

That last sentence wasn't quite true, as he had actually snatched the glasses when Ron hadn't been looking.

He made his way downstairs and went outside, jumping into his truck and driving towards the church.

Even if he drove well over the speed limit, it would be a fifteen minute drive, so he hoped that neither one of them would be too traumatized before he got there.

Wade gulped as he got down on his knees and looked up at the preacher, a large robe clad man wearing a very unconvincing hair piece.

"Son, the LAWD tells me you've been havin' some unnatural thoughts of th' homasexual nature! Well don't worry, we'll pray it away!" the preacher shouted and placed a hand on top of Wade's head.

"O LAWD, help me release the grip that Satan has on this poor boy! ABOLISH those unnatural thoughts he's been a havin'!" He continued to push Wade down while bantering loudly for several more seconds before releasing him.

"Uh..." Wade stood up, rather confused as to what had just gone on. He was about to walk off the stage before the rotund healer stopped him.

"My son, you are healed! You wish to sleep with a woman!" he assumed rudely. "Hallelujah! Praise the LAWD!"

"Actually I'd rather sleep with Trevor again." Wade said flatly.

"Oh my. It appears that Satan has an extra strong grip on you, boy. We'll have to give you a second healing later." the preacher said with shock that was just false enough that the audience wouldn't catch on to his scamming.

He instructed Wade to stay on the stage, then stalked over to where Ron was.

"I understand you're havin' sight problems! No worries, prayers shall grant you sight!" he shouted overzealously into his microphone.

"I'm not blind, I just need my glasses. I can't see shit without them." Ron said.

Several people in the audience gasped, and the preacher looked flustered. "My son, this is a house of GAWD, please refrain from using such language. Now pray with me!"

"I'm atheist, I don't pr-" Ron was cut off as the preacher thrust his his index fingers into his eyes, pressing much harder than was necessary.

"LAWD, hear my call! Grant this man SIGHT!"

"Aagh! You're making it worse!" Ron fidgeted uncomfortably. The obnoxious preacher was not only pushing his buttons in the wrong way, but invading his personal space, and he felt the rising urge to inflict harm upon him.

Few people knew it from firsthand experience, but he could hit quite hard when he felt he needed to.

This was one of those times. Ron punched the preacher directly in the face, hearing the satisfying crack of a breaking nose as he did so, followed by the sound of the preacher dropping to the ground. Still wound up, he grabbed the nearest thing- an empty candelabra, and swung it around manically, threatening to knock out anyone who dared to approach him.

"Good heavens! He just punched pastor McAdams! HEATHEN!" a woman in the audience shrieked.

It only took a few seconds for the church patrons to express their outrage towards his action, though nobody dared to come up onto the stage out of fear of getting nailed.

The commotion suddenly stopped and they looked over as the sanctuary doors swung open and Trevor casually strolled into the room, making his way over to the stage.

"Would anybody care to tell me what's going on here?" he asked in a tone that was surprisingly calm. A little too calm. Anyone who was familiar with that tone knew the shit was about to hit the fan.

His gaze switched from the downed preacher, who was whimpering and nursing his bloody nose to Ron, who was gripping the candelabra and looking from side to side in a nervous panic.

"Ron, did you punch this pastor?" he asked.

"I had no choice boss, he was trying to poke my eyes out!" Ron said.

"He was trying to cure you, you ungrateful heathen!" a random guy in the audience interjected.

"Shut up!" Trevor ordered.

The guy shut up immediately and sat down again.

"Hey Trevor! The priest guy said what you and I did last night was wrong and unnatural, but I don't think so. I liked it." Wade said.

"Did he? Well, I'll show him what I think of that. I'll love whoever the fuck I want." Trevor walked over to the preacher and brutally kicked him in the head, knocking him out. "You don't EVER try to change people!"

Content with the damage done to the pastor, Trevor walked over to Wade, looked him strait in the eyes and firmly gripped both of his hands.

"Wade, I've been thinking. Not that hard but still, I've been giving the relationship between us some thought. I'm not too good with this touchy feely expressive shit, but you made me feel... wanted. I like that. I almost like that more than explosions. I guess what I'm trying to say is, we can fuck around and see what happens." he admitted.

He barely finished speaking when Wade pushed him back against the podium and gave him a rough yet passionate kiss. It was only about four seconds before they had their hands down each other's pants.

The audience did not tolerate this, and wasted to time in expressing their outcries of disapproval. "Blasphemous sinners! You'll go to hell!"

"What? WHAT?! What's going on? Tell me!" Ron demanded, still in nervous panic mode.

The masses continued to scream in horror at the sight on the stage, and some of the more homophobic women fainted in shock. Completely freaked out, they all tried to run from the room at the same time, causing mass hysteria. Some tripped and fell down, only for their heads to be crushed under the feet of the fleeing mob.

Once the still living church patrons had all ran or crawled out of the building, a different type of moaning filled the air. They were not moans of fear or disgust, but of pleasure.

Suddenly glad he couldn't see much, Ron backed away from Trevor and Wade. It wouldn't have mattered who was being sucked and fucked up on that stage, he didn't want to see it. Observing other people in sexual situations never failed to make him uncomfortable.

"Oh...Uh. Okay boss. Have fun, I guess. I'll just... wait outside."

As he blundered out of the building, he heard Trevor snigger.

"Don't worry about licking it up, Wade. I'll just use pages torn from the pastor's bible." 


End file.
